A Spider's Web
by LexyCake
Summary: This wasn't the first time she'd had him stuck in her web, but it was the first that the spider herself had come to visit her prey. Pre-Manga.


**TITLE: **A Spider's Web

**RATING: **T+ (Torture, blood, implied sexual assault, implied dub con)

**CHARACTERS: **Captain Buccaneer, Human!Drachma (OC)

**SUMMARY: **Sometimes, some guests require... special attention.

**AUTHOR NOTE: **Yeah, this was... It started as crack, from a tumblr roleplay, but as seen below... It's serious crack. This takes the concept of Hetalia, where the countries appear as human, and applies it to the FMA universe.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

This wasn't the first time she'd had him stuck in her web, but it was the first that the spider herself had come to visit her prey.

He was already beaten and broken and bloody, his jaw fractured if not broken, his left eye swollen shut and he had a head wound that wouldn't stop bleeding, and that was only from the beating the guards gave him when they shoved him in here.

The Captain had a myriad of other wounds marring his body from his 'warm' welcome to this godforsaken prison in the middle of goddamn nowhere; only second to traitors, enemy soldiers were to be 'punished', and Briggs soldiers...

It wasn't only the inmates that Buccaneer had to worry about.

The brutality of a Drachman prison guard was legend, spoken in hushed whispers amongst the cowards who dare call themselves soldiers in Central, and Buccaneer has been at the mercy of the damned bastards before, and lived. He'd lost his arm in the escape, but he'd escaped, he'd lived.

He wasn't the type to just roll over and wait for the knife at his throat, he'd fight tooth and nail for his freedom, for his life.

_This- _He spit, blood staining the already dark stone with black specks –_is nothing._

She was watching him, the madame of this frozen wasteland, her eyes dark and gaze hungry, full of an unbridled vengeance as she observed him from the doorway. He was single handedly responsible for the death of hundreds of her troops, and though he was not the Ice Bitch who ordered their deaths, he was her pet, and what better way to show her _displeasure _than by sending the attack dog back in shattered pieces?

Oh yes, that sounded fun.

She stepped towards him, well-shined boots clacking against grimy stone, and Buccaneer's lips twist into a scowl and he jerked forward, body rocking against the heavy chains that keep him tethered to the wall and floor. They had prepared for him, his bulk can't break through the chains no matter how much effort he exerted trying to do so, and the exertion just weakened him more.

He was trapped.

The lithe, powerful woman smiled at the look of frustration on the lined, worn face, and she ran a soft hand over his cheek as she closed the difference, her thumb brushing over his bruised jaw with an intended roughness that made him wince.

"_Your suffering... I can taste it, little dog_." She whispered softly, the words falling from her lips in sickly sweet Drachman as she purred into his ear, plump lips brushing against his skin even as her hand moved upward, fingers lacing around his neck, thumb against his windpipe; not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him that it was she in charge, not him. The nation stood a good foot shorter than the Bear of Briggs, but she loomed over him now, her form straight and strong compared to his slumped and broken slouch.

But still, there was fire in those gray, stormy eyes of his, and Drachma intended to extinguish it.

"_Shall I make you taste of fear, next_?"

The barest of twitch in his eye told her that he had understood her silky sweet words, the slightest of hitch in his breath betraying his fear.

Oh, this one would be fun.

Her long fingers twined around the blade of the knife at her belt and she pulled it out, the steel shimmering in the dim light. She smiled at it for a moment, grimly, and then she brought it down, the tip of the blade pressed flat against Buccaneer's breastbone. Dark brown eyes flicker upward to meet his own, and they are bright with instability and amusement.

"_Have you ever had your entrails removed while you still draw breath, Captain? It is quite painful._"

The nation drew the tip of the blade down his torso, dragging it over the rough canvas of the soldier's uniform lightly. She slipped it underneath and then tugged it upward, sending the gold-plated buttons flying as steel neatly sliced through thread.

Another quick flick of her wrist made a neat, even cut down the front of his white undershirt, exposing the soldier's well-muscled and yet vulnerable torso. Any number of well placed stab wounds could kill the man suspended in front of her, and yet...

That wasn't her intention.

Drachma intended to send this dog back to his master beaten, bloody and broken, but not dead. She would rip every tortured scream from his lips slowly, pleasure building as his blood spilled onto the stone beneath them, soaking into her skin, her own anticipation building as she sliced into his flesh, once for every soldier lost against the Wall... But she wouldn't kill him.

At least...

Not physically.

She smiled again, the expression not quite meeting her dead, murky brown eyes, and brought the blade up, to lay it flat against his cheek, cold steel chilling already clammy flesh. Her hand on his throat relaxed and slid down his now bare chest, long, manicured nails scraping narrow red lines down his skin, before coming to rest on his belly.

There was a shiver building under his skin at her touch, unwelcome and unintended, she was sure, but still...

_Promising._

"_I won't kill you, mutt." _She murmured, pressing the flat of her knife lightly into his cheek, just enough to nudge him to look at her. His face was all hard lines and anger, a defiant, cocky scowl despite the fact that she had him, quite literally, at her mercy. This Buccaneer fellow was made more sturdy than the other soldiers she'd had the _pleasure _to meet, though it seemed that all of those who infested her border had a certain something that the other children of her siblings seemed to lack.

"_I wish you would speak to me, __**Captain," **_She purred, hissing out his title mockingly; she twisted the blade in her hand, and with a quick flick had cur a thin, superficial cut upon the man's face. It wouldn't even scar. "_This will go so much easier if you would cooperate with me, Daitaro."_

Buccaneer's unswollen eye twitched, and then flickered to meet hers.

"You killed my men,Drachman bitch. Why the fuck would I want to cooperate with you?_" _He snarled, tugging violently on the chains that looped around his wrists, metal rings biting into flesh and auto-mail.

Drachma raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh? Why?" She smiled again, and her hand moved up to rest against his heart. " Not all of your men died, Captain. One still lives. If you cooperate..." She raised her other hand to cup his cheek. "You'll both be able to limp back to that Ice Bitch of yours."

She had him – she could see it in his eyes, in the way that his shoulders slumped and his mouth set into a firm line. He didn't care about what she did to him, but threaten one of his men...

"What do I have t'do?"

Her smile was vicious, her laugh feral and her eyes wild as she stepped closer, pressing her lips firmly against his even as she twisted her wrist and sliced a line across his belly.

"_Scream."_


End file.
